


Even Across the Multiverse, Love/Lust Finds a Way

by JKL_FFF



Series: Smut Prompts [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Aronos, Boyfriends, Dom/sub, Dream Sex, Dreams, Dreamscapes, Hand Jobs, Kilts, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Myriad, The Wayfarers Saga, Works in Progress by Callum Duncan, also TheAvatar626 on deviantart, and tysonoffire on tumblr, birthday gift for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25995946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JKL_FFF/pseuds/JKL_FFF
Summary: Created as a result of a smut prompt on Tumblr(which can be found here:https://jkl-fff.tumblr.com/post/184996044484/smut-prompts)90. “Please, remind me again why we’re having sex behind a tree?”Pairing: OCs David and Fye(featuring 14. “Are you sure? Once we start, I might not be able to stop…” from Davidand 37. “You’re n-not, um, w-wearing anything under that, are you?” from Fye)For @tysonoffire ’s birthday (on tumblr, also @TheAvatar626 on deviantart)TO CLARIFY, THEY ARE HIS OCs, NOT MINE.THIS IS EFFECTIVELY FANFIC FOR A FRANCHISE THAT HASN'T YET BEEN PUBLISHED.
Relationships: Fye/David
Series: Smut Prompts [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886761





	Even Across the Multiverse, Love/Lust Finds a Way

Fye never could tell exactly when it happened (nor how nor why, for that matter), but sometimes when he dreamed … he’d find himself aware that he was no longer merely sleeping. In those times, he’d look around himself to see beyond the surreal, synaptic hodgepodge of sensations that his brain was blending together—to see beyond the dreams of merely sleeping—into the dreamscape vastness of the Realm of Sleep. With such awareness, in those special times, he could step seamlessly back into that familiar almost-space beyond definite-spaces.

He did so now. And above him, the familiar almost-sight of his island’s barrier shone with iridescent softness. Like a bubble of immense size and incomprehensible strength. Meanwhile, around him, the almost-scents and almost-sounds of an almost-forest. More peaceful than any real forest ever could be. This was a forest without predators, without decay, without grime or muck, without death … But also a forest with, at most, only almost-life. Still, it was pretty enough, and definitely peaceful.

Walking forward (limping only slightly on his prosthetic foot), he set a course for what should’ve been the edge of his island and the extent of its barrier. _Should’ve been_ , but wasn’t; before he got there, its almost-land intersected with what appeared to be the almost-land of someone else’s island, the same for their differently iridescent barriers. Instead of colliding or rupturing, as one might normally have expected, this created a section that was now apparently both islands at once. An equal blend of both, thus radically and fantastically different from both. Like an almost-physical venn diagram.

“… David?” Fye dared to hope. For he remembered the almost-sight of this other island in the dreamscape vastness, and of the intersection between it and his own … He remembered the young man to whom it belonged—the young man he had met here in the Realm of Sleep several times before …

Moving as quickly as his prosthetic would allow, he ran straight into their shared section. Then through what was _both_ a peaceful forest _and_ a serene moor between rugged jags of outcropping stone _at the same time_. Or _almost_ was. Both stretches of purple heather _at the same time as_ verdant groves of trees knitting together overhead to form a swishing canopy. Or _almost_. Somehow both at the same time. Almost both at the same time.

“David! _David_!”

But then it was only the almost-moor ahead of Fye. Serene but empty beneath and within the Realm of Sleep. No sign of the island’s owner anywhere he looked—no platinum locks ruffled by the almost-breeze, no golden irises always alight with wonder, no broad shoulders above already strong limbs, no energetic steps stalking towards him across the almost-land … Nothing at all.

Yet, for all that … Fye was _still_ certain he could _sense_ David nearby …

“Wait … Is he maybe, like, still _just dreaming_?” Fye wondered. “Yeah, that must be it! But then … how can he get here to me? David, can you hear me?! _DAVID_?!” he called out.

… but to no effect.

“Aw, _fuck_. All the trouble to come here, and I don’t even get to see him again?” Fye sat on an almost-rock to definite-sulk in his disappointment. Yet, suddenly, an idea occurred to him. “ _Unless_ … Can I go into _his_ _dream_? I mean, if I can move from my dreams to my island here in the Realm of Sleep, then onto someone else’s island … Gotta be worth a shot …”

He stood up and took a step backwards. _He_ _didn’t_ let himself think about the mechanics or the consequences of what he was attempting. One couldn’t with this sort of thing, or it would almost always fail; besides, one usually didn’t with this sort of thing, not when one was in love. No, he simply stood up and took a step backwards …

****

… into David’s dream.

There was tartan _everywhere_. Even the sky was a tartan of midnight hues—blue, purple, green, of course black, too—and starlight whites. All around were hunks of delicious-looking, juicy meat spit-roasting over tantalizingly slow fires. While white foam bubbled up inside bottles that kept getting shaken by the dancing servingboys carrying them, ready to burst if they didn’t get uncorked soon. Between the slow fires and the erected tents, countless fighting men were hurling thick logs and brassy balls at each other, emptying quivers by loosing arrow after arrow, baring swords and thrusting javelins for close combat, wrestling together on the ground like humps of frenzied beasts. All were bare-chested and sweaty, their flesh gleaming in the firelight and their muscles rippling like those hot flames.

But apparently it was all in a good-natured way, and no one was actually being harmed (somehow?). Fye didn’t question how he knew this; he just was _aware_ of accepting it as making perfect sense (according to dream logic, at least). Besides, who cared about _them_ when David—literally the boy of his dreams—was now at his side?

“The Moorland Games were amazing, weren’t they?” he chattered happily to Fye. “Tyson and Trident say they do this every year, and they’ll take me whenever they can!”

Fye glanced around again at the backdrop of David’s dream. “It … certainly looks like it made _an impression_ on you.” And he even managed not to snicker as he said it.

“Oh, aye! It’s the most fun spectacle I’ve ever seen!”

Of course, Fye didn’t question how he knew the Moorland Games were to celebrate how the Clans came together to make a (loosely) united and peaceful country. Trading battles among each other for (usually) nonfatal competitions of warrior skill. Sports instead of bloody combat. He just knew it … because David knew it and this was David’s dream. 

“They wrestled each other, too, and I can’t remember the last time I saw anything so … so exciting!” He grinned up at Fye then, like a fox. “It made me wish I could … _wrestle_ _you_.”

Fye felt himself begin to blush deep in his neck. Was David suggesting what he thought David was suggesting? When the most they’d ever done before was _kiss_ (and did that even count if it’d happened in the Realm of Sleep, not in some physical dimension)? The blush reached up to Fye’s cheeks as he replied, “I … I think I’d like _to_ w- _wrestle_ with you, too.”

“… Oh, aye? Are you _sure_? Once we start … I might _not_ be able to stop myself, _not until_ I’ve wrestled you into submission.”

The blush was hitting his ears now as Fye nodded. “Y-yes, please.”

David’s grin widened. Then he started off between erected tents. “This way.”

“W-where are we going?”

“Into the woods beyond the Games’ grounds. There, behind the cover of trees, is a place we can be alone and unseen.”

“While we … w- _wrestle_. Oh!” It was only now that Fye got a good look at David, and saw he was garbed all in Moorland finery. Exactly how Fye imagined a warrior, fairytale prince might look. A shirt and brocaded waistcoat, a studded belt that held a scabbarded sword, a kind of plaid sash wrapped around one shoulder and across his chest, and (most arresting of all) a kilt above brogue boots. That last combination showed a lot of very shapely leg … and also reminded Fye of a notorious fact about kilts.

David glanced back. “What?”

“You’re n-not, um … wearing _anything_ under that kilt, are you?”

The grin turned into a teasing smirk, and David turned fully around to look up at Fye. “You’re welcome to see for yourself.”

Fye squeaked, “B-but … Not in the woods yet?”

David moved closer, then pushed Fye back a step so that he tripped into sitting down on a boulder at the base of a tree. Pressed Fye back until he was pinned against that tree’s trunk. Because they were _already_ in the woods, of course. Because of dream logic, yes, (no point questioning that) and because David’s imagination wasn’t going to waste time walking there.

Which was just fine with Fye. Same with now having to look up at David—a reversal of normally being substantially taller than this short-and-stocky powerhouse of a young man … who was fixing “to wrestle him into submission”. He felt a thrill just thinking about that. And another as the hands simultaneously pushing down and back on his shoulders, pinning him, tightened into a perhaps possessive grip. And a third as David hungrily, voraciously, ravenously pressed his lips to Fye’s. His tongue to Fye’s. Practically wrestling him through their mouths.

While they kissed long and hard (with all the passion of two young lovers who hadn’t seen each other in the gods only knew how long), Fye realized his hands had settled instinctively onto David’s hips. Leather and metal studs and tartan fabric beneath his caressing fingers. Letting them slide lower down David’s legs, he reached the hem of the kilt … then let them slide beneath it. Warm skin and brawny muscle and soft, soft body hair were now beneath his fingers. Back up David’s legs now, all the way back to his waist. Rubbing from the front of his thighs back to his tight buttocks. Completely unencumbered.

Fye couldn’t suppress a giggle. “I was right! You’re n- _not_ wearing anything under— _Ah_!”

David’s tongue was upon Fye’s neck, lips and teeth grazing over the sensitive skin to kiss and to nip in equal measure. It took his breath away. Then David’s mouth was next to Fye’s ear, whispering the hoarse command, “T- _touch me_. Now that you know there’s nothing in the way … _touch me_.”

“Ffff! _Yes_!” And both Fye’s hands were there in an instant, gripping the hot length of solid virility like it was the most precious treasure in the multiverse. Like he intended to never let it go. Like all he’d ever dreamed of was pleasuring it.

With a low moan, David leaned into it. Then, he reached down to grasp the long bulge straining against the crotch of Fye’s jeans. To grope it, even as Fye spread his legs apart to give access, his own moans practically harmonizing with David’s for an ecstatic stretch of pure bliss.

Eventually, however, a need within Fye built up until not even this could distract him. Murmuring into the other young man’s ear, he asked, “P-please … rrremind me again why … we’re, um, w- _wrestling_ behind these trees?”

Through the haze of heavy kissing and hands on hard-ons, David blinked in confusion. “Wha?”

“I mean, w-we’re here … to be alone and unseen, you said, w-while we … So we can …” Fye stammered, too nervous to just come right out and say what he meant.

Comprehension and then playful mischief spread across David’s face. “So we can … _what_? What’re you asking of me?”

For a response, Fye shot shim a flustered glare.

It only seemed to egg David on, however; feigning innocence, he faux-protested, “But I don’t understand what you want.”

“Aw, _c’mon_. Don’t make me s-say it …”

“Say _what_? Why is my Fye suddenly such a Shy Fye?”

Frustration made Fye bold, and he burst out, “Oh my gods! I want you to _fuck me_!”

David giggled triumphantly. “As you wish!” And he snapped his fingers.

In the next instant, Fye’s clothes were gone. _All of them_ —hoodie, shirt, jeans, boxers, socks and shoes— _were just gone_. They weren’t taken off; they simply vanished off his body, leaving him naked there in the woods. Outside, exposed, vulnerable. His rock hard dick jutted up into the open air, pulsing and twitching with the rush of sudden excitement. A whole new thrill, unexpected and overwhelming. And Fye didn’t question this either, because dream logic … especially _David’s dream_ logic.

For his part, though, David’s clothes hadn’t gone anywhere; he still stood over Fye in all his Moorland finery, still looking exactly how Fye imagined a warrior, fairytale prince. Except that now, the front of his kilt was tucked into his belt. His own rock hard dick pointed proudly right at the young man he dreamed of so often—a young man who had even said “Yes, please!” to the idea of being “wrestled into submission”!

When the fully dressed David then laid his strong hands upon Fye’s now bare shoulders to firmly, perhaps even _forcefully_ , spin him around, he thought he might just squeal from the excitement. He felt … It was hard to say exactly how this scenario made him feel, _but he realized he liked it_. He felt like some sort of toy being maneuvered for use by its owner—like a sex slave who didn’t have the right to ever wear clothes in the presence of his master—like a peasant boy who’d caught the eye of his lord, and now had no choice but to serve his lord’s good pleasure. And he would _willingly_ submit to it all _with a smile on his face_ , for the feeling was _euphoric_!

Was the boulder lower now? He wasn’t sure, but when he knelt upon it, his ass seemed perfectly lined up with David’s eager manhood. Had the boulder been covered in this soft layer of moss? And the tree, too? He wasn’t sure, but it was easy and even comfortable to kneel on one and lean against the other; if need be, he thought he could (and he knew he gladly would) stay in that position _for hours_. Of course, he didn’t question the setting shifting around him for long, either. No, he wanted to be fucked— _he needed to be fucked_ —too much to question any of this. So he simply let David and David’s dream put him in his place … and readied himself.

Fye didn’t have to wait long, for it seemed David wanted to fuck— _he needed to fuck_ —just as badly. Strong hands were already spreading his ass. The slicked tip of a cock was prodding and brushing around his tight pucker. It found the right position … and then it pushed slowly all the way into him. Stretched his hole wide enough to take the full girth.

“Hhhhh _oh_! Gods, _yes_ …”

Strong hands how clasped his hips, taking firm purchase … and the thrusting started. Steady and pounding and fast and full of vitality as a heartbeat. Each thrust fired another wave of utter pleasure through his body, like a blast of glowing warmth flashing down his appendages. And he felt lightheaded with it to the point of giddiness; his limbs tingling, his dick tightened and heated harder and hotter than he’d ever felt it before. More excitement and more happiness and more sensuousness pumping through his body than he knew how to process.

“Fff- _fuck_ … That fff-feels … so g- _good_!”

David didn’t answer; he was beyond the ability to use words.

Reaching back with one hand to wrap it (in a gesture of tenderness and passion) around the other young man’s, Fye vowed, “W-when we fff-finally … find each other fff- _for real_ … we’rrre so gonna do th- _this_ … every fff-fucking day!”

David turned his hand over to hold Fye’s even as he kept rhythm while fucking him.

“Hhhhh … H-hope you ‘member _all_ th- _this_ … when you w-wake up … Aaaaa- _ah_! Heh! Fffuck, hope _I_ ‘member _all this_!” Fye chuckled. “Not the kind of … d-dream you wanna forget!” Suddenly, he felt fingers running through his thick, full hair, ensnare a handful of it … and pull. He gasped as yet another new thrill surged through his body. Pushed him right up to the edge. “ _Ah_! G- _gods_ , David, I’m c- _close_!”

“Annnd I, too! S-so close … _So close_!” David’s hands pulled harder and held tighter while his hips thrust faster and deeper. He could feel his climax building, building, building up within him. More than he could hold back, more than he could withstand. With a great shout of his lover’s name, “ _FYE_!” he came!

And in the split second after, there was a flashing rush of white and heat that consumed the tartan world.

****

Fye lay on his back in the peaceful almost-forest, feeling … dazed yet strangely good. Looking vacantly up at an island floating off into the Realm of Sleep. Away from his own … David’s island, he realized. And then it clicked, or at least he thought it clicked.

“… did I just … did w- _we_ just … c-cum _so hard_ that it, like, _expelled me all the way back to my own fucking island_? daaaaamn … don’t care how many, uh, b-branches of the multiverse we gotta tear through or wayfare through or whatever, _I’m gonna make that man mine_ …”

Breathing out a contented sigh, he closed his eyes and let himself sink out of the Realm of Sleep. Much to his surprise and delight, he found upon waking that he could still remember the whole experience. And when he and David did (eventually) find each other out there in a fully real and fully physical dimension, much to his surprise and delight, he found David remembered it, too … and was just as eager to recreate it …


End file.
